Chapter Six

                        

As Emily paused in her writing to stand up and stretch, Sibbie barged into the room.

  “Are you still at it?’ she said. “You’ve been in here nearly all of Saturday and half of Sunday already. Mum and Dad think you’ve run away, you’ve been so quiet!”

  “Ha, ha, not funny,” said Emily.

“Show me!” Sibbie demanded, reaching out for Emily’s exercise book.

  “No! Go away!”

  “Please yourself,” said Sibbie.

  “I will,” said Emily.

  “Maybe I’ll sneak in and read it when you’re not here,” Sibbie threatened.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” said Emily.

  “Maybe,” said Sibbie. “Or maybe not. Not that I care about your silly story, anyway.”

  “It’s not a silly story. It’s a dreadful one,” Emily said.

  “It’s silly. Very, very silly,” said Sibbie. “I’m right, you’re wrong,” she chanted as she barged out again.

  One part of Emily wanted to stop writing for the day

but another part wanted to carry on.

  The part that wanted to carry on, won.